


The Lord of the Flies and the Angel of the Dawn

by gypsyweaver



Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Ineffable Bureaucracy (Good Omens), Multi, Other, They/Them Pronouns for Beelzebub (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-01
Updated: 2020-04-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23423980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gypsyweaver/pseuds/gypsyweaver
Summary: A changing of the guard is coming. Due to social distancing, Pollution is weak and Pestilence is gaining strength. Gabriel has invited Beelzebub to a kitschy American restaurant to discuss the particulars of Pestilence's coming reign.
Relationships: Beelzebub & Pestilence (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Gabriel (Good Omens), Beelzebub/Sandalphon (Good Omens)
Series: A Tale of Crowns and Coins [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1684990
Comments: 4
Kudos: 47





	The Lord of the Flies and the Angel of the Dawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ParadoxicXen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadoxicXen/gifts).



> CW: Covid-19, Sandalphon, mild body/illness squick, referenced non-con (not graphic), MAGA hats
> 
> If I missed anything, let me know.
> 
> I'm publishing this as a series, because I've heard that people like series better than chapters.

The Ides of March, 2020. Plano, Texas

Gabriel had picked the venue this time, and Beelzebub was pleasantly surprised. The restaurant was one of the more garish American ones. It was a family place that served passable steaks and decadent desserts, walls festooned with local kitsch.

Of course, at this point, it was a miracle to find any restaurant still serving diners at tables. It was all drive-though and take-out, these days.

War averted two years prior, just to hand the world over to Pestilence. God’s caprice and cruelty still felt like a slap in the face every time. Every damned time.

There were so many humans around, eating in little clots. Some of them wore heraldry that marked them as chumps--“These Colors Don’t Run” and a few Thin Blue Line shirts, as well as several of those silly red hats stamped with “MAGA”. But most just looked like tired business people or families. A baby with one fist in her plate waved at Beelzebub, and the demon waved back.

They could feel it. Just under the surface, under the skin. Racing through her tiny veins, multiplying and exploding out. Spraying the table when she sneezed. Landing on the hands of her grandmother, who wiped her little nose. Her grandfather, already on an oxygen tank, reached out a finger and touched her on the top of her head, and she laughed.

Everyone in the restaurant would go home with a new companion. One just below the skin, in the blood and bone and marrow. The young and healthy had a better chance, but many of them would die drowning on their own fluids.

They could heal it. Just a touch, and the illness would evaporate. These humans would leave, healthy and whole. Alas, a gesture that grandiose would be noticed. At any rate, this illness was not slowing down. These humans would just get reinfected as soon as they left. There was no way to heal all of them.

Humans were a herd that culled themselves. Beelzebub briefly considered closing every eye in this restaurant, permanently. It would be quick, painless. Better than most humans deserved.

But.

All the old agreements had been ratified after the Apocalypse didn’t happen, now with Beelzebub’s name signed on the dotted line. Lucifer’s leavetaking from the material realm had changed one thing and only one thing in Hell.

Beelzebub was now in charge officially, instead of just running everything from the shadow of Lucifer’s massive throne.

Gabriel waved genially from a table near the kitchen and away from humans. Beelzebub smiled and waved back.

Smiling. They’d been doing that more. Their memory was old and rusted, but they seemed to recall that smiling was a thing they did nearly constantly in the Garden.

Well, people change (demons Fall), and their smile had been stolen for millennia.

It was easy to smile now. No great battle to prepare for. Completely in charge of Hell. No Lucifer with his hoof on their neck. No justifying every use of miracles (for anything other than the war effort.) Just quiet meetings with the other Princes, agreement on moving forward with massive infrastructure repairs and improvements, collecting souls, distributing resources, and continuing the general function of Hell. Test the humans. Tempt them.

And the angels. On that front, Beelzebub was also pleased. The Archangel was Falling, in pieces. Not that it mattered. Without Lucifer to tether him in chains to the Lake of Fire, he’d never be a demon. A revelation that they’d shared with Gabriel in the early days after the Apocalypse, watching the sunrise on an abandoned island, sitting on a black sand beach with him and the embers of a driftwood fire. That had been a weird night. Too much mead and too little discretion.

After that, after the loss of his fear, it was so easy to tempt him to little sins. Though, Gabriel had started eating all on his own. Which surprised Beelzebub, and pleased them. Endlessly.

They slid into the booth across from the Archangel. Over the centuries, they’d perfected the ability to fall into a sprawl, and that’s how they sat down. A certain affected casualness. A perpetual moody teenager. It suited them.

A brown cardboard box waited on the table. Such an innocuous thing, but Beelzebub could feel the power that radiated from what rested inside.

“I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered drinks,” Gabriel said, smiling brightly.

Beelzebub returned the smile. “Not at all.”

And they did not. He’d ordered something reasonable for himself (probably whiskey and soda--he’d gained an appreciation of whiskey after the failed Apocalypse) and one of the fishbowl sized Mudslides for Beelzebub.

The Archangel was eating these days, and Beelzebub was smiling. What a strange world. They pressed their lips to the straw and drew the cold sweetness up into them. The sugar and caffeine began to trickle into their blood, followed quickly by the alcohol.

“So,” Gabriel said, slowly swirling the ice cubes in the deep amber fluid. “I guess you know why we’re here?”

“I heard...rumors,” Beelzebub said, with a knowing eyeflick over the box on the table. “And I’ve seen the news.”

“Yeah,” Gabriel replied. He drew his stirrer out of the tumbler and slammed the whole thing down. He set the glass down, harder than he needed to. “I thought...I thought...it should be both of us, you know?”

He was drunk. His speech was thick with it. Gabriel’s fist clenched around the glass, and the glass began to strain. To crack.

Beelzebub’s hand shot out, landing with ease on his. Delicately, like a mosquito touching down. Fingertips first, and then the slide of their palm over the top of his hand.

The touch was sudden, and surprised both of them.

“Please,” Beelzebub said. It was a general plea--to stop breaking the glass, to keep his head about him, to not move away from the touch that they offered. All three at once. “Please...”

Gabriel released the glass and took Beelzebub’s hand instead. Beelzebub mended the crack that ran from base to lip as Gabriel ran his thumb over their knuckles.

He was smiling again, but it was a different sort of smile. Something warmer, less plastic. His violet eyes sparkled with it.

Gabriel pulled their hand, and curiosity moved their body. He was leading them. Out of the booth, around the table. To sit beside him.

Gabriel laced his fingers through theirs. “This is better, isn’t it? I mean, this must be what She wanted?”

“A hideous virus to wipe out a large chunk of humanity? Sounds about right for Her.”

“Not that,” Gabriel said. “The virus? Can’t blame that on Her...No. I mean, us. Together. On the same side.”

“Seriously?” Beelzebub laughed. “We must be together because God intended it? Angel, you can just SAY that you enjoy my company. You don’t have to bring Her into it.”

He lifted their hands, still laced together, to his lips and laid a kiss on the second knuckle of their fingers. His eyes never left theirs.

They stopped breathing.

“I have to believe there was a reason,” he said.

They remembered how to breathe. “A reason, for what?”

“For six thousand years of humans, and war, and pain. Six thousand years of...I don’t know, Beelzebub.” He brushed his lips to their knuckles again. “Angels aren’t supposed to be lonely. But I am. I am.”

“There wasn’t a reason for any of it, not outzzide of God...” Beelzebub replied, gently. “And if there was...” They reached a hesitant hand to cup his cheek. “If there was, our happiness--if we can make each other happy--no amount of happiness between two beingzz would be worth what She’s done. To them and to us.”

Gabriel’s free hand went to the back of Beelzebub’s and his lips found their mound of Venus, lingering there. His breath was so warm on their skin.

“You make me happy,” he said, nuzzling their palm.

“How do you even know?”

“I’ve known you for six thousand years.”

“Two years ago, you were ready to kill me.”

“I had to. Beez, I had to,” he said. “I would have done it...quickly. It would have been CLEAN. Fuck, do you have any idea what Sandalphon wanted to do with you?”

“No,” Beelzebub said, very honestly. It was not a subject that their mind had ever touched on. Nor had they wanted to. Sandalphon was piece of work, even by angelic standards.

“He wanted...he advocated for...and, I mean, he got a lot of support! You should have seen them...supposed to be above all that, and they were fucking gleeful. Beez, they were gleeful.” He paused, his breathing ragged. “And what the fuck did they even know about you? ANY of you? Huh?”

“What did he advocate for? Precisely?”

“War prizes,” Gabriel mumbled. “War prizes. I said no, absolutely not. The Metatron--I thought he’d support me, at least. But I forgot that they’re twins, Sandalphon and Metatron. The Metatron pointed out that there was Biblical precedent. Biblical precedent? Since when do we put any fucking stock in THE BIBLE? That’s a human thing. We had our Plan, and it called for extinction. Nothing less.” He was holding both of their hands now, shoulders pulled in, grief and shame warring on his face. “I thought Uriel might say something, but no. She had a personal beef with Aynaet and Werzelya, and meant to make them suffer.”

“And Michael?”

“Michael...Michael is not stupid. She supported war prizes--I think she had a...thing...with one of you. I don’t know who.” He flushed, and Beelzebub found his fremdschämen to be delightfully endearing. “But Michael, she said that I had rights to you. My contemporary in Hell, and all.”

“That was her reasoning? Truly?”

“I think she thought that we...that we had a thing,” he said, flushing even deeper. “So she thought that I should have you after, when we won. And God bless her for that. But Sandalphon said that I could have the pieces when he was done with you. And that would be in a few centuries, after he tired of you.”

“And?”

“There was a fight. Uriel didn’t care, and I wanted you dead, and Sandalphon wanted...I think he spent too long as a human, Beez. You wouldn’t believe his hunger.”

“I held the burnt flesh of my followers in my hands. I know.”

They judiciously left out the part where Sandalphon had used a lesser angel to capture them, had kept them away from their people and then caused a drought that devastated all of Ekron. How he forced them to watch their people suffer, and eventually, to burn.

They left out the things that happened in their captivity. These were not details that the Archangel required, nor details that Beelzebub wished to share. Even if they COULD share those details, which they could not.

“He hates you because you tempt him.”

“How am I tempting him? By existing?” Beelzebub asked. “I’ve said less than twenty words to him in six thousand years.”

Most of those words were “please” and “no”, but Beelzebub kept that to themself.

“His words, not mine. You bring him to wrath...I think because people loved you so much.”

“I healed them and gave them a fertile valley...of course they loved me,” Beelzebub said. “Humanzz are simple creatures. And God was never so generous as I am. It was easy to tempt them away from Her. I was kind to them, and She treated them with nothing but spitefulness.” They shrugged.

It didn’t affect them. Not like it did to humans. They hadn’t dissolved into themself afterwards. They wouldn’t even let themself think the word for what happened to them. It had been painful at the time. There were wounds. But they’d healed. It had been weird and awkward. Gross and strange. Sandalphon (who was stuck inside of a human, with all of the appetites that came with that) had kept them for nearly a year. Until the Metatron had discovered his brother’s misdeeds, and forced Beelzebub to swear with blood and kisses to never speak of Sandalphon’s sins.

It took him a long time to get that promise out of Beelzebub. They were still so young. So petulant. So angry. If they were older, they would have given up immediately. But they’d fought until they couldn’t fight anymore, until Metatron threatened to burn the whole valley. Then, Beelzebub had made their promises, and Metatron released them.

They’d screamed their pain to the void and had been done with it.

“Well, Sandalphon wanted you. Badly. The Metatron decreed that whoever got to you first could dispose of you or keep you, as he saw fit,” Gabriel explained. “So, yeah, I was going to run onto that battlefield and kill the fuck out of you. I didn’t love you...not quite. Not yet. But I did respect you, and you didn’t deserve what Sandalphon had already done to you--to your priests in Ekron. And now, he was trying to figure out if you deserved thirty days of mourning before...well, you know.”

Beelzebub nodded. They did know. They’d spent a year with the weird and whimsical prophet Elijah. He was a bit like everybody’s favorite kooky uncle. The one that made the best jokes and brought the best food to the potluck, but nobody left their children alone with.

The one with a hunger for depravity that paced behind his eyes, looking for some weakness to exploit. Looking for an escape.

Gabriel sighed heavily. “I couldn’t stop the fucking war, and for all I knew, if we didn’t fight...God would just find some other way to end us.”

“Who’s to zzay...who’zz to say she hazzn’t?”

“The virus? Yeah, it’s brutal. I’ve been discorporated twice so far.”

“What?”

“Twice. It’s really unpleasant. I just dropped dead the first time. My heart, I think.” He paused. “The second time was...worse.”

“If you feel sick, you come to me! I’m a healer, Gabriel!” Something warm and wet streaked down their cheek. Then another. Tears. And the realization that they loved this feathered fool. As much as a demon could love, they loved him. “Always come to me. I don’t know if Heaven’s going to be able to keep up with the demand for recorporation...”

“I dunno,” he said. “Israfil is back on active duty, and he’s a stickler. He might not want me going...out-of-network.”

“Gabriel, do they even know where you are?”

“Uh...not today, no. Actually...as long as I’m not out in the open, they can’t really see me.”

“Stay with me, then.”

“In Hell?”

“No. Hell’s under construction. Most of us are topside, actually.” They paused, closing their eyes and feeling the warmth of the setting sun on their eyelids. “It’s been...nice...to see the sun again.”

He laid a kiss on their forehead, and they opened their eyes. “Yes. I’ll stay with you.”

“That was nice. The kizzing is nice.”

“Haven’t you ever been kissed?”

Beelzebub startled. “Have you?” they asked, somewhat indignantly.

“Not yet.”

There, in a padded vinyl booth in the slitted light of the setting sun through wooden blinds, in an Americana family restaurant that teemed with children and disease--there, in that moment, Beelzebub pulled him down and met his lips. Together, they built a church of breath and shadow in the joining of their mouths.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I'm like 60% through a GO/Underworld crossover for my Doppelgangers series, and instead, I got this. So, here you go.
> 
> This is how I'm dealing with being in the state with the most (per capita) Corona deaths, and being immunocompromised. And having a number of preexisting conditions that cause me to cough and run random fevers. And most of my friends being in the ["useless eaters"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Life_unworthy_of_life) category of humanity.
> 
> (It is no exaggeration when I say that I am afraid that I will lose my mother, much of my extended family, and maybe 1/3 of my friends in this. Most of them, I have not seen in years because of the financial reality of being on disability.)
> 
> I haven't been writing much. This news cycle feels like Hurricane Katrina all over again.
> 
> This is also my answer to, "How long until 'they were quarantined together because of Covid-19' becomes a fanfiction staple?"
> 
> The future is now, my darlings.
> 
> Alright, notes:
> 
> The restaurant. It's an Applebee's. In case you're wondering.
> 
> Ba'al Zebal (Biblical Beelzebub) is a really awesome character. He was a god worshipped in the Valley of Ekron. He gave his people healings and fertility. He was a water deity. Jehovah/Elohim basically just offered people a lot of suffering, so Ba'al Zebal was way more popular. At least, until a drought struck Ekron. The prophet Elijah rounded up Ba'al's priests and had them make burnt offerings to call Ba'al to save them. When Ba'al didn't show up, Elijah (Sandalphon in human flesh) called fire down upon them.
> 
> ^Biblical God is an asshole. Sandalphon is as well.
> 
> Old Apocryphal texts and Talmudic lore says that Metatron and Sandalphon were twins. So, you can bet that Metatron would have his brother's back.
> 
> Aynaet and [Werzelya](https://books.google.com/books?id=umMtBAAAQBAJ&pg=PA590#v=onepage&q&f=false): Very Important demons in Ethiopia. Ethiopia is sacred to the Archangel Uriel. 
> 
> Gabriel dropped of a heart attack because that is a Thing that can Happen. [We're only beginning to understand what this beast can do to hearts](https://theheartattackandstrokepreventioncenter.com/blog/covid-19-what-every-patient-with-heart-disease-needs-to-know/). A healthy, athletic male relation of mine, aged 20, had a heart attack out of nowhere, with Covid-19 symptoms afterwards. In January. (He's recovered since.) So that's how I discorporated Gabriel. 
> 
> Israfil is Raphael. It's the Arabic pronunciation.
> 
> Did I miss anything? Write me a note.
> 
> Write me a note anyways. Comments and kudos are a soothing balm on the sunburn of writer's block!


End file.
